


Paper Thin Walls

by Geonn



Category: Sanctuary (TV)
Genre: Doppelganger, Eavesdropping, Episode: s04e01 Tempus, F/M, Hand Jobs, Jealousy, Masturbation, Morning Sex, Time Travel, Victorian, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-27
Updated: 2012-01-27
Packaged: 2017-10-30 05:24:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/328196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Geonn/pseuds/Geonn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Helen realizes she's jealous when she discovers James has an overnight guest.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Paper Thin Walls

Helen returned to London late in the evening, thanking the driver before stepping inside. She took a moment, as she always did after a long journey, and stood in the foyer to appreciate being home once again. It was true that she enjoyed traveling and became restless if she was in one place for too long, but she did enjoy the comforts of home. She divested herself of her traveling cloak and hat, folding her gloves into the pockets before she went upstairs. There was a chance James would still be awake in the library, but she found the fire burning to warm an empty chair.

She smothered the flames and, in the rapidly-cooling room, she realized both armchairs had apparently been occupied during the evening. James' journal was resting on a side table and, across from it, she spotted a wineglass and one of her favorite collections of poetry. She picked up the glass and held it toward the hall where a light was still burning. Lipstick on the rim. Either James had entertained a female guest or he was going through another of his disguise phases. She looked forward to seeing him in this garb; in the past he'd always demurred at the thought of cross-dressing.

After cleaning up the mess James and his mystery guest had left, Helen retired to her chambers. She changed into a gown and gratefully enveloped herself in the thick blankets of her bed. She may have worn trousers and carried handguns with ease, but she was still a woman when it came to the comforts of sleep. Far too often during the past month she'd been forced to grab bits and pieces of rest on cots and hard floors while in pursuit of her goal. The bed felt like Heaven, and she was unconscious in seconds.

In the morning she responded to the early rays of light coming through her window with a reluctant yawn. She bathed, dressed, and pinned her hair into a sensible up-do before she left her rooms. Before she went downstairs she decided to let James know that she was home. And, of course, there was a chance she could convince him to cook breakfast for her. He was a divine chef, and he--

She stopped short just outside the door of his bedroom, backing up two steps so the woman wouldn't see her. Helen had only seen a glimpse of the mystery woman and cursed herself over forgetting the extra glass in the library. Of course James would be otherwise involved this morning. Helen pressed her should to the wall and risked another sidelong glance into the room. 

The door was only open half a foot, but it was enough. The woman was seated on the trunk at the foot of James' bed, leaning forward to unroll a stocking up her calf. Her fingers were slender and assured as they guided the nylon over her curves. When she reached her thigh, her palms smoothed down any wrinkles and then hooked the tops to her garters. Her liberty bodice was loose enough to conceal her figure, but not so loose that she seemed shapeless. As she leaned forward to draw up the other stocking, her magnificent dark curls tumbled forward again and obscured her face.

Helen retreated into the room next to James'. She knew she should go downstairs. She could prepare a nice breakfast for James, and his guest if she chose to join them. Of course the thought of actually breaking bread with the woman who had just spent the evening... She blushed at the thought. She should leave them to their privacy, but something prevented her from moving. It was the perfect opportunity, really. James thought she was gone. When else would she have an opportunity like this?

She heard a whisper from the other room. Seductive, far too low for her to identify the voice. Was it someone she knew? Would she have recognized the voice even if she'd spoken full volume?

"Good morning," the woman whispered, and then the unmistakable sound of a kiss.

"You are absolutely insatiable," James groaned. "Do you ever sleep?"

"Not when there are so many more enjoyable things I could be doing." She heard a brush of cloth on skin and then James groaned. Helen pressed the back of her head against the wall as the woman chuckled. It was a throaty chuckle and Helen bit her lip to keep from joining James in his helpless groaning. 

James found his voice again. "You really should be going..."

"Not very gentlemanly of you, Dr. Watson."

More kissing and Helen closed her eyes. She could picture it, not that she wanted to, and she wondered if James would make her undress or simply push aside her...

Helen shuddered and folded her hands over the front of her gown. She applied a slight pressure with her fingers, her blood rising to color her cheeks. 

"You know we're not alone," James said. Helen's eyes snapped open at that statement, her heart frozen in her chest. "I heard _her_ coming in late last evening."

"Yes, but you and I both know _she_ never... comes... up here."

They were stressing the pronoun so oddly that a line of confusion appeared between Helen's brows. She was struggling to keep her breathing normal and it was hard for her to focus on the oddity. And the pause in the other woman's statement was also peculiar. Apparently James noticed it as well.

"Darling? Is something the matter?"

"I was just... remembering something. Hm." She chuckled quietly and kissed James again. The kiss lasted for a long minute and Helen found her skin rippling with goosebumps under her clothes. She turned her knees toward each other, her back arched so that her bum was still touching the wall but her back wasn't. She moved her hands in slow circles against her mound.

"Tell me what you're doing," the woman whispered.

James chuckled. "What?"

"Just do it, James. I want you to tell me what you're doing to me right... this instant... oh!"

"Caressing your gorgeous breast... feeling the nipple rise through the fabric." A kiss. When he spoke again, his voice was muffled. "Kissing your chest. Your throat..."

She heard their bodies shifting on the bed and the mystery woman's shocked gasps. She heard clothing being removed, and James ceased his narration in favor of strangled moans. 

"Say what I'm doing. Out loud." And then she said something in a whisper too low for Helen to discern the words.

"What? Whyever--"

"Just don't... Call me dear... darling..."

"My love?"

The woman moaned her approval. "Say what I'm doing to you, James..."

"You appear to have unbuttoned my pyjamas and have a firm grip on my cock. You are now stroking me from root to tip. Your fingers feel exquisite on the flesh, my... m-my love. I fear I shall not last long in this state."

The woman moaned. "Who is asking for a marathon, James? I want one thing from you at this instant and you're holding back on me."

Helen heard their movements grow more frenzied, and then James cried out. Helen brought one hand up to her mouth and bit the heel of her hand to keep from joining him as her other hand pressed tight to the crux of her legs. She felt weak, and it took all of her focus to keep from tumbling to the ground in a boneless mass of muscles and moisture. 

When she was finished, she could hear kissing from the other room. James chuckled and whisper, "Ah, you are wanton, my dear."

But if he could speak, then the woman wasn't kissing his mouth. So what was she--

"Mm. How can I resist? You are delicious, as always, James."

Helen blushed a deep crimson, clapped a hand over her mouth and fled the room as quietly as possible. Behind her she heard James say: "Did you hear something? Helen?" although his inflection seemed wrong. Almost as if he was asking her if she had heard something. She didn't trust her ears, her mind, any part of her anatomy and especially not that part that throbbed for something more substantial between her legs. She fled downstairs in her bare feet, ridiculously grateful that she had gone without shoes, and entered the kitchen like a dervish.

Her upper lip was still moist with sweat when James arrived in the kitchen. He was dressed impeccably as always, in a starched-collar white blouse under a silk waistcoat and a pressed pair of pants. He paused in the doorway to button his cuffs, watching her from the corner of his eye. She met his gaze as innocently as possible and brushed one blonde curl away from her temple.

"Good morning, James. How are you?" _Delicious as always?_ flashed through her mind and she had to turn away from him.

"I'm quite well, thank you. Did you get enough rest last night? You got in quite late."

"Yes. Rested and very refreshed, thank you." She cleared her throat and sprinkled cinnamon on the oatmeal she had prepared. "Would you like me to fix you something?"

"If it's not too much trouble. I'm famished." The chair scraped across the floor, and she heard him sigh as he sat down.

She wanted to ask about his visitor, if she would be joining them. It wasn't like James to bed a harlot or a woman as brazen as the one she'd overheard. That could only mean she was a respectable woman who had become comfortable enough to play a bawdy doxy in the boudoir. But to ask would be to invite questions about how she knew the woman was even here, and she wasn't prepared to answer those questions this early.

When his breakfast was ready, she carried the bowl to him. He thanked her, and she took a seat to his right to eat her own breakfast. 

"Helen..."

She looked up and waited for him to finish his thought. He contemplated his breakfast, moving his utensil through the oatmeal. 

"Yes, James?"

"It's nothing." He looked at her and smiled. "You're very comely as a blonde."

"Only comely?" 

He held his hands up in defense. "I chose my words well for fear of being accused of flirtation."

Helen laughed, but his words hit home. She considered for a moment and tilted her head to one side as she considered him. "Well. A bit of flirtation never hurt anyone, now did it? You, for instance, are incredibly handsome clean-shaven."

"You don't miss the beard?"

"Not at all. I imagine it must scratch something terrible to your..." She caught herself but it was too late.

James only laughed and shook his head. "Ah. So some things do stay the same."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

He put his hand on top of hers. "My dear, it would be impossible to explain even if I wanted to."

Helen stared at the way his hand covered hers, realizing that her body was revisiting its reactions from earlier. Pounding heart. Skin becoming moist with perspiration. She swallowed but kept her hand underneath his. He rubbed her knuckles with his thumb and used his free hand to continue eating. A part of her was worried his guest would arrive and get the wrong impression. A larger part found herself bizarrely comforted by the weight of his palm. 

"James, would you please do me a kindness?" He dipped his chin. "The next time you have an overnight guest, would you close your bedroom door?"

He straightened in his seat, cleared his throat, and frowned at her. "How... much did you...?"

"Nothing," she lied. "But the evidence was clear to see."

"Why, Helen. If I didn't know you better, I'd say you were jealous."

What was the point of lying to the world's greatest detective? "I am. I don't pretend to understand it, and you're certainly entitled to your dalliances, but I would prefer you kept them discreet. At least until--"

"Helen." She pressed her lips together and stopped herself from continuing. "I promise we will be more respectful in the future."

"Thank you. It's all I ask. So what is her name?"

He cleared his throat and considered the question for far too long considering how easy it should have been. "Well. In honor of discretion, let us simply call her Miss Bancroft."

Helen blinked in surprise. "That was my mother's maiden name. She could be a relation of mine."

James got the strangest look on his face. "Oh... perhaps. Distantly."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "You are a singular man, James Watson."

He laughed loud at that, and she rolled her eyes. She certainly wasn't going to get a straight answer out of him this morning. She took her hand from his at last so she could finish her meal without resorting to her less-dominant hand. She appreciated his promise to be less brazen with his new lady. And a closed bedroom door was hardly a barrier if she decided she wished for a repeat of the morning's entertainment.

The walls of James' bedroom were, of course, awfully thin.


End file.
